


Highway Tales From Rowsdower

by freckledFirebrand



Category: Project Wingman (Video Game)
Genre: Feat. a whole mess of the fandom OC's from the PW discord, Gen, Just a mess of one-shots that are too small to put in their own thing really, Short Stories
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-16 02:14:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29446137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freckledFirebrand/pseuds/freckledFirebrand
Summary: A compilation of short stories focused on Sicario's time at Rowsdower and at the Highway they find themselves at after Prospero that don't fit into their own story lines and are too short to be considered their own one-shot usually. Featuring OC's from the Project Wingman Discord and my friends on here, as well as, of course, our original Hitman crew.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 8





	Highway Tales From Rowsdower

//July 25th, AC 432//  
//Operation Blue Shelter//  
//Airspace over Brite Fortress//

* * *

"Polaris, AWACS Bluejay. Now, I know some of you were real excited for a fight, but... remember Sicario? Yeah, uh, they did your job for you with some other CIF forces. Turns out they’re still around, too."

"Oh, bull _ shit _ !" Nicole shouted, her mic live, as she slammed the dash of the Super Hornet. "Was it that Crown? There's no way one person can be that good!"

"Oh yeah? Well, if you're looking for a royal audience, Cygnus needs another plane to escort our supply mission. While you were busy doing nothing,  _ we _ reached out to the other AWACS and figured out some more details. Why don't you pop on down to the highway and go tell that to the Crown face to face?" His smug voice was a bit less infuriating now than when she first started to fly with Polaris. She still wanted to punch his lights out at some point.

"Awfully nice of you to let me choose, Bluejay."

"Oh, when did I say that?"

As Nicole remembered to cut her mic, she let out a heavy sigh, mixed with a loud groan. “Give me a bearing, then,” she grumbled as she flicked it back on.

“Sending them now. We’ll also be transferring you over to Sicario’s AWACS. Make sure you get the  _ good _ coffee.”

Nicole just rolled her eyes as she brought the Super Hornet out of the afterburn she’d been screaming along in to try and get into the AO as quick as the battered airframe allowed. She watched as the rest of her wingmen peeled off, turning back around with Bluejay, as she was left cruising north. As she checked over the new coordinates her system was reading, she lamented the fact that it was on the extreme edge of her plane’s range; she’d have to remain on the ground at least long enough to refuel and perform basic maintenance, and due to that, it meant she’d likely have to remain there overnight. Part of her was glad to have any time away from her team; part of her didn’t want to have to spend said time surrounded by mercs _. _ Just because she could sympathize with the treatment that they got and had family ties to them did not mean that she had to like them, though admittedly, that could’ve been heavily due to the fact that they were the reason she’d spent the past two hours in the air with nothing to show for it.

* * *

They really were using an old highway as an airbase. She’d heard of the theory of doing so in the strategy books that she read when she was initially joining with the Peacekeepers, but Nicole couldn’t believe that it was something that this conflict would come to. Then again, she didn’t expect the battle of Prospero – or even this conflict as a whole – to escalate to a point where the Federation would cause a second Calamity, either. There was a small, almost-silent part of the lizard section of her brain that was nervous about the procedure to land, but when she saw the C/T-17 in front of her touch down with seemingly no problem, followed by its F/D-14 escort, she put the lizard brain on mute and followed it in suit, ignoring the rather sharp angle of descent and the overall roughness of the highway and the massive pylons that divided the two parts of the highway.

The entire airframe screeched as the wheels made contact, airbrakes flaring as the wheels imparted what little force they had to help slow the plane down. It wasn’t as easy a landing as she usually preferred to make, reminding her more of the carrier landings she had done so long ago, but given the state of… well,  _ everyone _ , she realized it’s what she should’ve expected.

She was directed to taxi further down; every few moments she shot a glance down and to her right at Cygnus’s plane. The tunnel ahead of her, full of planes, seemed to stretch on for miles; part of her wondered just how much that must’ve cost Cascadia, only for it to go unused.

Unused until Sicario had moved in, she supposed. The person navigating her in signaled for her to pull off to the side and stop, which she did. Canopy up, body out, Nicole stretched, rolling her shoulders as her gaze drifted around, catching a breath of fresh, untainted air. Her own plane no longer bore any of the kill marks it did before— well, they had  _ mostly _ been scratched out, even if the edges of the paint were visible. Hopefully nobody looks too closely, she thought, but even if they did, she was glad that no one was around to ask her any questions or to harass her about them. Instead, she was free to make her way over to the transport.

The second she stepped a foot too close, however, she got a list shoved into her hands. “Scour around and get these things,” one of the men disembarking from the back of the transport told her. Of  _ course _ they’d make her do physical labor, Nicole thought, as she looked it over. MRE’s were first, followed by some other miscellaneous things she’d be able to get from wherever this base was storing its general goods – true to Bluejay’s word, “good coffee” was on the list, right besides toilet paper.

She sighed, shook her head, and began to move. She’d have to spend the night here anyways, but that didn’t mean she wanted to waste time. She wouldn’t have anything to  _ do _ afterwards, but she was really hoping that whatever bunks were set up in this highway tunnel would prove to be more comfortable than the cots she had finally gotten used to.

“Where’s the damned coffee?” Nicole muttered to herself as she paced through the storeroom. The place was meticulously organized, but the system could’ve only been understood by someone neurotic; for the logistician who made it, she bet it made sense, but anyone else would’ve trashed the place – something that she was being  _ extremely _ careful not to do. Even if just for one night, she didn’t want to get a whole new group of people pissed off at her, something she had proven in recent months to be exceptionally good at. “Coffee,” she muttered once more, her steps not slowing in the slightest.

The MRE’s were already on the world’s squeakiest pallet jack that she’d found, as was the toilet paper, batteries, all of the other things, but even as she covered every last inch of this store room, she couldn’t find any coffee. Even though the thought of raiding any of the lounges she had found had crossed her mind, she didn’t want to be shot at today. If the mercenary pilots were anything like her, they’d shoot her for an offense like that.

Nicole felt a sinking feeling in her gut.

To try and quell it, she took a look into one of the cases of MRE’s on the pallet. They seemed fine, but the feeling didn’t get any lighter. Pulling one out – no one would miss a veggie omelet MRE, right? – she gently opened it up, and –

“Dammit!” Nicole shouted as she recognized that, it too, was missing its coffee. “How the fuck?!”

Running a hand through her hair, her eyes narrowed at the coffeeless package. If this one had seemed fine, but still lacked its coffee…

“Fucking hell,” she mumbled, forcing her eyes shut. Deep breath in, she let out a deep sigh as she tried to process this. Everyone back at base would likely flay her alive if she returned with no coffee, hell, she’d likely flay herself alive if she didn’t find anything. Dragging the pallet jack behind her, she made her way out of the storeroom; she had a logistician to chew out. She’d seen a white-haired woman, slouched behind a desk, filing some sort of paperwork nearby as she had walked in, and if Nicole had to guess, that would be the first person to investigate. It didn’t help that she could smell coffee and exhaustion from her, too.

“Alright, what supplies are you stealing from us,” the logistician dryly remarked as she heard Nicole approach the other side of the desk, not looking up from her paperwork.

“I’ve got MRE’s, toilet paper, batteries, masks, the usual. Oh, and  _ coffee _ , if you  _ have _ any,” Nicole replied. The last word got the attention – and the scowl – of the other woman.

“Coffee’s all accounted for,” she flatly replied.

“Oh, bullshit, I can smell it on you.”

“That’s why it’s all accounted for.”

“It’s not even that instant shit, where the fuck’s the coffee.”

“It’s. Accounted. For.”

“Then at least tell me who stole all of the instant coffee from these MRE’s!” an exasperated Nicole shouted, an eyebrow twitching above bag riddled brown eyes, which seemed to finally catch the logistician off-guard – until the scowl gained the slight beginnings of a smirk.

“I’d almost forgotten that I did that,” the logistician flatly remarked with a single chuckle. “First one to not back down, either. I like that.”

That, in turn, caught Nicole off guard, who, through all of her blustering, could only manage now to just mutter out, “What?”

Cracking her fingers as she stood up, the logistician’s small smirk hadn’t faded in the slightest. “Ronin and the rest of Sicario knows well enough to not question the coffee,” she explained. “The dumb ones do it out of fear. The smart ones do it to not piss me off.”

“Dumb or smart, I just want some damned coffee so my squadron doesn’t fucking flay me alive,” Nicole grumbled.

“That why you were back there for an hour?”

“…yes.”

The slightly shorter logistician in front of her just shook her head. “Most would have ran and stolen it from a lounge by now,” she commented flatly. Then, she began to walk off.

“I – where are you – what?” Nicole blustered once more.

The logistician stopped. “You want coffee? Follow me.”

At some level, Nicole was now just wishing she’d chosen to risk her squad’s wrath.

“Holy shit,” Nicole murmured as she saw Legion – she’d managed to snag a glance at the woman’s tag – open up a dresser drawer in what she could only assume to be the bunk that she was staying in, which was stocked to the brim with instant coffee. “You just…”

“They know better than to stop me.”

“Holy…”

“Are you just going to gawk?”

“I need a moment.” Nicole could practically hear the eyeroll that got in response. Then, she began to open her duffle bag, before the shorter woman’s surprisingly firm grip stopped her.

“How many?”

Pausing for a second, Nicole ran through some mental math. “Sixty?” she proposed.

Legion shook her head. “Thirty-five.”

“That’s barely enough to keep us sane for a week. Fifty-five, at least.”

“Forty-two, even.”

Nicole wasn’t going to win this. With a sigh, she nodded. Forty-two was better than Wired!®, and better than none at all. She could already hear the shit for only be able to wind up with this shit, but at least she’d had a story to rival one of Bluejay’s now.

Best part about it was hers was true. She began to collect the forty-two packets, shoveling them into a duffle bag, and was suddenly at least slightly thankful for the fact that she didn’t see any of the caffeinated gum or mints that the assholes who hate coffee incorporated into some of the MRE’s in Legion’s drawer of heaven.

As she turned to leave, bag over her shoulder, to the jack outside, she heard Legion state flatly, “Hold it one second.” The white-haired woman was holding two mugs, and inside one of them were four more packets. “Keep me entertained, this coffee’s yours.”

“I  _ really _ hope –”

“No. Not that kind,” Legion interjected, rolling her eyes. “Without supplies and sorties every day, I have had minimal work to do for the past two months. I have listened to  _ every _ other person’s blustering during that time.” Nicole could recognize the annoyed affection within Legion’s tone and couldn’t help but wonder if that’s what  _ she _ sounded like on occasion. “You are, as far as I can tell, the  _ only _ sane person I have met in a while.”

“I… can understand that completely,” Nicole admitted, a shiver running down her spine as she remembered Bluejay’s story from when they were first getting her clothes that weren’t a prisoner’s outfit. “So, you want a friend.”

“I want someone to distract me from all of the morons around me.”

“So… a temporary friend.”

“Sure.” The scowl across Legion’s face, as well as the smirk, had long-since faded; in its place was a far more weary, tired expression that resonated with Nicole far too well. Part of her wondered if that’s what she would look like if her hair had already grown white. “More interesting noise than whatever Monarch’s wizzo wants to try to regale me with.”

“I… see.”

“Good. Sit down. Heat or cold water?”

“Hot?” Did this woman drink her instant coffee  _ cold _ ?

“Shame,” Legion muttered, before disappearing, and Nicole realized she did. Her eyes went wide. Unsure where to sit in the barren room, she just rested against the wall, and waited. Soon, she could smell the coffee aroma waft into her nose, and even if it wasn’t the ‘good shit’ that Bluejay had ordered, it was better than the alternatives.

When Legion returned, they talked. Nicole’s stories were either mind-numbingly dry, or patently absurd (of all the traits to pick up from Bluejay, she hated that it was  _ that _ one she picked up), Nicole continually realized halfway through each of them, but Legion, to her credit, was a good listener, even if she seemed on the constant verge of passing out. When they finished, Legion’s farewell was brief.

“If you live, I’ll be seeing you. Try to do so. The world needs more egoless pilots.”

Somehow, Nicole recognized that the tone Legion insulted her with meant that there was at least the vaguest suggestion of fondness to the gesture.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there! I hope you liked this first little one-shot, featuring Nicole from The Peacekeeper by njmksr on here, which you can check out at https://archiveofourown.org/works/28485834/chapters/69799743, and @LuzaitisActual's Ronin OC, Legion! The next story will feature Legion once more, so I hope you like her cranky face.


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